WildHorizon Guild — Outside the Wall, 9:00 AM
Dylan dragged his feet into the guild hall, exhausted. Sleeping out on the street was hardly relaxing, especially when everything was turned to mud and thoroughly soaked.
Three days had passed since his first mission with Connor and Rose, during which they had completed two additional quests. Neither was particularly difficult, though Dylan found it somewhat unsettling every time he heard the goblins beg for their lives as they bled out in the dirt.
Curiously, that didn't seem to bother the other adventurers in the slightest—including Rose, as Dylan noted. None of them had complained or even brought it up.
*THUD*
"Out of the way!"
The entrance to the guild burst open, followed by a woman's scream that instantly drew everyone's attention.
The woman was visibly wounded, covered in deep slashes across her arms and legs. Slumped over her shoulder was an unconscious male adventurer with several spears protruding from his body. On one side of his abdomen was a massive bite mark where a chunk of flesh had been outright torn away.
"A potion, please!" the adventurer pleaded desperately.
She was clearly still terrified from the battle and visibly spent from dragging her companion's weight across town.
A group of people emerged from the alchemy room pushing a stretcher, carefully transferring the wounded adventurer onto it while helping the girl walk toward the alchemy wing.
A receptionist rushed out from behind the front desk—the one assigned to oversee this particular party.
"Trish! What happened?! Where are the others?!" the receptionist asked, her voice laced with concern as she took Trish by the hands, noticing how violently the girl was trembling.
"Dead! The goblins killed them! I barely managed to drag Albert out!" Trish stammered in terror.
Dylan listened intently to the conversation, as did every other adventurer present in the hall.
Connor, who had stepped out earlier to grab breakfast, returned and sat down beside Dylan holding a pork sandwich, watching the commotion unfold with sharp interest.
"What'd I miss?" Connor asked, taking a bite.
"Two adventurers made it back heavily wounded. The rest of their party died—at the hands of goblins, according to them," Dylan explained briefly.
Connor knitted his brows in confusion upon hearing that mere goblins had inflicted such damage. He didn't know those specific adventurers personally, but he recognized them as a Rank D party. Goblins shouldn't have stood the slightest chance against them.
"Her wrists and ankles are sliced..." Connor noted, analyzing Trish's visible injuries. Those specific wounds were clearly no coincidence; the cuts concentrated far more densely around her joints than anywhere else on her body. (They tried to immobilize her,) he thought, taking another bite of his sandwich as he pondered how on earth a goblin would know how to systematically disable a human.
The receptionist, flanked by the alchemists, escorted Trish and Albert toward the alchemy wing, where they could be properly treated.
"They must have stumbled across a massive hive."
"Talk about terrible luck, right after making it out alive from the war against the pig-men."
"And the war against Fortress, too."
"Shit... John owed me money."
The murmurs swelled across the hall as the receptionist disappeared into the alchemy wing alongside the injured pair.
"There was another war before I got here?" Dylan asked, surprised.
"Salusbreath is always at war... The Kingdom of Fortress is a real piece of work. They're obsessed with expanding across the entire continent," Connor revealed. His family had run into trouble with the Kingdom of Fortress in the past—and things hadn't ended well... for Fortress.
The two continued chatting about potential upcoming quests they could take on. Connor suggested a timber-gathering contract; apparently, local loggers were crossing paths with goblins with increasing frequency and were terrified for their lives.
Dylan thought it sounded like a solid idea. Gathering timber meant helping the city expand faster, which might—just might—eventually earn them an actual roof over their heads.
A few minutes later, Derek approached their table, looking considerably more preoccupied than usual.
"Morning, boys," Derek greeted them politely. "Where's Rose? I thought the three of you were getting along well now."
"Rose? That little man-chaser is in the restroom. The guild's pork didn't agree with her stomach," Connor answered casually.
"I don't blame her—the Master's stomach couldn't handle the meat either," Derek revealed sympathetically. "Anyway, how are your missions going? Getting used to things yet, Dylan?"
Dylan shrugged. He wasn't entirely comfortable with it yet, but taking a life wasn't nearly as daunting as it had been at first.
"Good, that's progress... and I'm afraid you two will need to progress as fast as humanly possible," Derek disclosed, instantly catching both Connor's and Dylan's full attention.
"Spill it, Derek. What's going on?" Connor asked directly.
Derek let out a heavy sigh and sat down across from them, lacing his fingers together as he fixed them with a grave look.
"Several high-ranking adventurers have formally submitted their retirements... Unfortunately, there's nothing we can do to stop them. They're getting up there in age, and demanding they keep fighting after everything they've contributed would simply be asking too much," Derek explained solemnly.
Normally, this wouldn't present a critical issue, but the recent war had shifted everything. A significant number of high-tier adventurers had perished in the conflict, leaving the guild in a precarious position against even Rank D monsters like pig-men.
"Dead," Derek replied bluntly, his gaze darkening. "Only a handful survived the war against Fortress. Every guild in the region is down to just three or four Rank A members, alongside a single Rank S—who happens to be our Master."
"Holy shit," Connor gasped, genuinely surprised. He hadn't realized the guild's situation was that dire.
Dylan processed the conversation, nodding quietly. He didn't fully grasp every nuance of the political climate, but he understood the core issue clearly enough:
Fewer high-ranking adventurers = more dangerous missions forced onto weaker adventurers.
"At this rate, we won't have anyone left to defend Salusbreath when the Annual Great Hunt arrives," Derek admitted, a trace of unease in his voice.
Connor nodded in understanding at Derek's concern, while Dylan, unfamiliar with the term, felt his curiosity piqued.
"What's the Annual Great Hunt?" Dylan asked.
"Right, you're a transmigrator, so you wouldn't know. Once a year, the adventurers of Salusbreath unite to launch a massive cull against magical beasts classified as pests. If left unchecked, these infestations can wipe out entire cities," Derek explained before adding, "Only adventurers of Rank D and above are permitted to participate, which means you two will remain behind here alongside the rest of the Rank E and F adventurers."
(Sigh... thank god,) Dylan exhaled in relief, glad he wouldn't be dragged into a mini-war against magical beasts.
The three continued conversing until, thirty minutes later, a pale and noticeably diminished Rose dragged herself over to the table with faltering steps. The pork had utterly defeated her in the restroom.
Connor didn't waste a second. As soon as he spotted Rose, he pulled out a quest scroll and informed Derek that they were taking it. It was the timber-gathering contract in the forest.
Guild Alchemy Wing
Albert, the adventurer who had been bitten, was awake and lying on his side, biting down hard on a leather belt. One of the alchemists was pouring a Healing Potion directly onto the gaping wound, and Albert could feel his flesh knitting together at a rapid pace.
"I swear to you! I'm not lying! The goblin mocked me during our fight... It spoke!" Trish cried out from her cot across the room.
"Trish, I need you to calm down. The battle was intense and you took several blows to the head. What you think you saw or heard was just a hallucination brought on by trauma," the receptionist assured her, standing beside an alchemist.
"It wasn't!" Trish insisted desperately. "Ask Albert! He heard them too!"
It took the receptionist and the alchemists several long minutes to quiet Trish and Albert down, as both remained in a deeply agitated state.
"Ma'am, what do you make of what they said?" an alchemist asked, looking over at the receptionist while wiping Albert's blood from his hands.
"Pure trauma-induced delusions, of course. Monsters don't speak. Most likely, she suffered severe shock from the physical blows and the death of her party members, so her mind constructed that story," the receptionist stated mournfully; she hated seeing her adventurers broken like this.
"A coping mechanism?" the alchemist probed.
"Something like that. Her mind fabricated the narrative to avoid facing the reality that her entire group was wiped out by mere goblins," the receptionist affirmed softly.
"That's certainly a heavy blow to process, ma'am..." another alchemist remarked quietly